


The Choice of Lovers and Poets

by 26stars



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 17th Century, AU-Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Arranged Marriage, Artist AU, Artist and Subject, Discussion of Abortion, F/F, Marvel Fluff Bingo 2020, Orpheus and Eurydice, Painter! Melinda, References to a family member's suicide, Team Earth Elements Challenge--Fire, Undercover art-ing, Unplanned Pregnancy, art and painting, happy ending planned, some fluff but also angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: Melinda May is a painter who has been summoned to a noblewoman's home on a French island in order to create a portrait of her daughter. Because the young lady refuses the marriage, Melinda most pose as a friend in order to study the woman, and then paint her in secret. The task is straightforward, if unconventional.Once she meets her subject, however, Melinda is unprepared for almost everything that follows.
Relationships: Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Melinda May/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 30
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AwesomeKickAss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeKickAss/gifts).



> So, this movie hit me like a truck, and I'm still recovering. If you haven't seen Portrait of a Lady on Fire yet, do yourself a favor and get on it. In my mind, it's a gamechanger for wlw films.
> 
> For Bo.

Melinda sat huddled on the bow of a small boat, which was making painfully slow progress across the channel. Before her, four men of varying ages rowed in sync with their backs to her, and a fifth man stood on the stern manning the rudder. The sky above them was clear that day, but the choppiness of the sea made her feel like she was astride a mare’s neck, dipping and bowing at its pleasure. A particularly high swell caused her to lunge for the flat wooden pallet at her feet, her only baggage apart from the canvas bag swung across her shoulder. The pallet’s wide, flat shape could not sit soundly on the curved belly of the boat, and Melinda righted it with as much strength as she could manage, trying to shove it into a safer space. The sudden appearance of a rock at her elbow made her look over her shoulder, attempting to judge their distance from the island, and that was all it took.

A sudden splash caught everyone’s attention, and Melinda leapt to her feet as she saw the pallet suddenly join the rock in the sea.

All the men immediately stopped rowing, but no one said anything or made any move to rescue her cargo, which was rapidly drifting further from their little boat. Without taking too long to think about it, Melinda threw off her bag and stripped off her overcoat. She did not bother to take off her shoes as she hitched up her skirt to find the edge of the boat and then launched herself into the water after the pallet. The water was as cold as she expected, but thankfully it only took six or seven determined pulls of her arms and some frantic kicking before her fingers met the sodden wood, and she exhaled in relief, pulling herself over it to float on. The men brought the boat around and hoisted up first the box and then her, and Melinda dove gratefully back into her dry coat that would not be dry much longer.

“What do you have in here, the crown jewels?” one of the men asked before they resumed rowing, jamming a calloused finger at the box.

Melinda tried to look confident, but she was shivering too hard to manage it. “Better than that: my livelihood.”

Her hair was still dripping when their destination suddenly appeared on the horizon. She’d never been to this island of Brittainy, and Melinda was slightly surprised by how large the island seemed. When they came ashore on a rocky beach, one of the men helped her out of the boat and took her pallet while she shouldered her bag. The other men beached the boat and set about building a fire to have their dinner around before heading back across the channel, but the fifth man pointed her in the direction of the path up the cliff. He ended up abandoning her pallet and turning around before the climb really started, and Melinda stared at his retreat, annoyed.

“Where do I go?” she called after him.

“Head straight up to the trees,” was all he answered before turning around again, heading back towards his crew.

Melinda bent and wrung out more water from her still-soaking skirt, then heaved a sigh as she picked up the pallet and swung its rope strap over her other shoulder.

The climb, while not too steep, certainly felt long between her wet shoes, dripping clothes, and burdensome cargo. The sun had nearly set by the time she made it to the top, but lights burning faintly in the windows of a stone house ahead made her destination much more visible. Melinda marched straight up to the large front door and knocked. After a moment, a lock turned within, and a pair of dark eyes peered out between a candle and a maid’s bonnet.

“I’m Melinda,” Melinda said, skipping the hello. Household staff should have been warned of her arrival…

So it would seem, because the maid immediately stepped back, opening the door wider.

“Welcome,” she said quietly as Melinda entered, and the maid shut the door behind her. “I’ll show you to your room.”

The sky outside had darkened but the house was even darker as the young woman led Melinda up a stone staircase right by the door and down a short hall to a fine set of doors. Inside, a set of makeshift curtains hung on a wire divided the room, and a daybed was set up next to the hearth where the maid immediately went to light a fire. There was no other furniture uncovered, though some crates were stacked behind the parted curtains, giving the room a neglected, haphazard feel.

“It was a reception room,” the maid said, as if reading her thoughts. “I’ve never seen it used.”

“Have you been here long?” Melinda asked as she set down her bag and box.

“Three years.”

Melinda shucked off her coat and hung it over the bed’s headboard near the fire. “Do you like it here?”

With the fire now burning cheerfully, the maid stood, smoothing down her apron. “Yes,” she answered simply. She looked Melinda’s soaked outfit up and down, noting the wet trail she’d left on the floor. “I’ll let you get dry,” she said, heading for the door.

Melinda barely waited until it closed to untie the lace of her skirt.

Once her wet garments were all off and hung around the room to dry, Melinda took the pins out of her hair and shook it down to lie damp along her neck and then knelt on the bare floor to pry up the lid of the pallet and inspect the state of its contents. Both canvases were soaked, of course, but neither appeared damaged. Melinda propped them both against the sides of the fireplace, then scooted as close to the fire as she dared in order to burn the chill out of her body. She lit her pipe from the candle and smoked a small bowl of tobacco, willing her shivers to stop.

It took a while.

Her clothes were not even close to dry by the time her hunger outweighed her chill, so Melinda wrapped herself in her painter’s smock before taking the candle and padding back downstairs on bare feet. It was easy enough to find the kitchen opposite the staircase, and inside a cupboard she found cheese and bread, which she immediately carried to the table with a knife, setting plate and candle down with a clatter.

She was on her third bite when the maid appeared from the back room, looking surprised.

“Sorry, I helped myself. I was very hungry,” Melinda offered as a half-apology, barely slowing down. “Is there wine?”

“Of course,” the maid said, leaping into action. She brought Melinda a glass and poured from a bottle, stepping back and waiting expectantly for another request.

“What’s your name?” Melinda asked after swallowing a particularly large bite.

“Daisy,” the girl said, somewhat cautiously.

“Daisy,” Melinda repeated with a nod. “May I be curious?” She gestured with her eyes to the seat at her elbow, and Daisy sat down hesitantly.

“What can you tell me about your young mistress?” Melinda asked, deciding it was never too early to begin her project.

But Daisy only shook her head. “I don’t know her well.”

Melinda cocked her head, chewing on another bite of cheese. “But you’ve been here three years.”

Daisy nodded. “But the young lady just arrived a few weeks ago.”

“From where?”

“The Benedictines.”

A convent, then.

“Did she leave her holy orders?” Melinda asked, sipping her wine.

Daisy shook her head. “No. They brought her home because her sister died.”

“Was she the only one due to marry?” Melinda asked, putting the pieces together. Usually, one sister could choose holy orders if it was not necessary for her to marry for family or wealth.

Daisy nodded.

“Did disease take her?” Melinda asked, the most natural cause of death for a woman so young.

But surprisingly, the maid said, “No,” and did not elaborate, then changed the subject.

“Will you manage to paint her?” Daisy asked, hiding her hands beneath the table.

“Why do you ask?” Melinda said, biting into the bread again.

“Another painter was here not long ago,” Daisy said. “He failed.”

“What happened?”

Daisy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

~

Before turning in for the night, Melinda explored the rest of the room. Beneath one of the furniture coverings, she discovered a harpsichord. Beneath another, a tall mirror. And, in its reflection, she spied a canvas that she did not bring, set expectantly on an easel yet turned against the wall. Stepping across the shadows and shafts of light, Melinda approached the unframed canvas and turned it around.

What she saw stole her breath for a moment.

It was a portrait of a woman, or at least, it was intended to be. The figure had ivory skin and was dressed in an emerald green gown, but above its neckline, the person barely reached past a collarbone. There was no face and barely an idea of where it should be, where the background had not been filled in. In the half-light, it looked as if the face had been deliberately burned away, only a haze of smoke and unfinished plans remaining.

~

The next morning, Daisy woke her with an announcement about breakfast and informed her that the Countess would like to see Melinda in the foyer when she was finished eating. Her clothes, thankfully, had dried, though her shoes felt a bit damp when she pulled them on. There was no sign in the kitchen of the ladies of the house, so Melinda ate quickly and then followed Daisy to the foyer.

As Daisy opened the doors to a brightly-lit room, Melinda’s eyes slid right past the person seated near the mantle and straight to the portrait hanging above it. A joyful feeling immediately filled Melinda’s chest, and she didn’t have to force the smile as she turned to curtsy to the woman before her.

“My lady,” she said, meeting the woman’s eyes as she straightened. “Thank you for inviting me.”

The Countess smiled politely and dismissed Daisy with a look. She gestured Melinda into the room, but before she offered her a seat, the two of them faced the painting together.

The Countess was still very lovely, but judging by the painting, she had been truly beautiful in her youth. Her hair, still blonde, was for the painting styled into a beautiful crown wrapped with a string of pearls, and, like today, she was dressed in a blue gown. The skin that was now softened with age was still young and fair at that time, though Melinda could tell that the artist took some liberty by coloring her far paler than she probably was even at that time.

“Do you recognize it?” the Countess asked at her shoulder, and Melinda smiled to herself again.

“My father painted it,” she said, not even needing to search for his mark in the lower corner.

The Countess looked her direction and smiled. “One of his first.” She gestured Melinda towards a chair, and the two of them sat. “It was painted in Milan, before my marriage. My daughter’s suitor is also Milanese. We’ll go there if he likes the portrait.”

Melinda nodded, folding her hands on her lap and waiting for what else the woman clearly wanted to say. Out of habit, she studied the woman in front of her with a painter’s eye, observing the way the light from the windows interacted with the woman’s strawberry-blonde curls, her lightly-browned skin, her night-blue gown… Her deep blue eyes were the only thing that had not changed since the time of the portrait above them.

“I have to tell you,” the Countess continued, catching Melinda’s eye and attention again, “she wore out one painter before you in a very simple manner. She refused to pose, and he never saw her face.”

Melinda nodded, recalling the unfinished portrait in her room. Any artist would have done their best with the gown alone, but a portrait without a subject is only a painting of clothes.

“But why won’t she be painted?” Melinda asked, her brows pinching together.

The Countess’s gaze fell for a moment. “She refuses this marriage.” She looked up again. “So you must paint her without her knowledge. She thinks that you are here to be her companion for walks. She’s delighted. Since she arrived, I don’t let her out.”

Melinda tilted her head. “Why not?”

The woman’s gaze went distant. “I wasn’t careful enough with her sister.”

Something lurked beneath those words, but Melinda knew this is not the time to press. “So your daughter thinks I’ll watch over her on outings?”

The woman nodded, returning to the moment. “And while you spend time together, you study her, then make a portrait from your observations. Is painting her that way feasible?”

Melinda nodded and offered a humble shrug. “More than being a companion.”

The Countess nodded and then stood, so Melinda stood too. Side by side, they walked to the door.

“You have six days. I’d suggest you start now.”

~

Melinda called Daisy with her to the room, then sent her to fetch the dress from the unfinished portrait. She seemed to know exactly where to find it, because she returned in only a few moments with the green gown draped across her body.

“I’m afraid it’s the only one,” Daisy explained as Melinda expected the showy, satin garment. Many layers, a thick skirt, ruffled sleeves. Satin was an artist’s dream because of the spectrum of light and shade it could show, but it also meant more time and attention would be required. “The young lady has no dresses of her own yet, and wears her convent clothes. This is the only one of her sister’s that fits her well.”

“She’s blonde?” Melinda asked, picking a thread of fair hair off the sleeve, wondering if it belonged to the younger or elder sister. Daisy nodded, so Melinda did too. “Well. This will do.”

_We have no other choice…_

Daisy draped the garment carefully over the bed, and Melinda set to work preparing the room for painting. She nailed the large cheesecloths she had brought with her over two of the windows to soften the light, then set up the easel facing the empty part of the room. A crate became her work station where she set up her paints and glass, and then she set to work preparing the canvas with a burnt umber tone.

She was midway down the white expanse of her canvas when someone knocked on the door. Setting down her brush, Melinda closed the makeshift curtains to conceal her “studio” before approaching the door.

She cracked the door a bit suspiciously, but thankfully it was only Dasiy on the other side.

“She’s waiting to go out,” the girl announced, stepping back to go, but Melinda caught the girl’s elbow and pulled her into the room.

“Tell me,” she asked in a low voice after shutting the door again. “What happened to your last young mistress? How did she die?”

Daisy looked panicked for a second, but she answered anyway. “We were walking along the cliffs. She was behind me and vanished. I saw her broken body below.”

Melinda stared at her, suddenly feeling sick. “Did she fall?” she whispered.

Daisy was now avoiding her eyes, rubbing her hands nervously over each other. “I think she jumped.”

Melinda’s brow furrowed. “Why do you think that?”

Daisy looked up at her, a haunted look in her gaze. “Because she didn’t scream.” She reached for the doorknob and left the room swiftly, leaving Melinda alone with the truth.

Melinda donned her overcoat, made sure her hands were clean of any paint, and then stepped out for the staircase. After reaching the bend in the stairs, she could see a figure waiting by the door in a black cloak, its hood pulled up over her head. The woman did not turn to greet or even acknowledge Melinda as she descended the final steps, simply heading for the door and stepping out into the sunlight.

Melinda followed, mirroring the silent treatment, leaving the door for Daisy to close behind them. The woman ahead still did not turn back and certainly didn’t slow down, striding purposefully towards the cliffs Melinda had climbed yesterday on what seemed to be impressively long legs. Gravity eventually won out over friction, and the bouncing hood slid off the back of her head, revealing blonde hair twisted up in a complex style, but still the woman did not even glance over her shoulder. Melinda followed along patiently, waiting for her opportunity.

As they broke through the trees and the land abruptly sloped towards the cliffs, the woman, still several feet ahead of Melinda, suddenly hitched up her skirt and broke into a run. Heart leaping to her throat, Melinda immediately ran after her, unable to form a coherent thought to call back the woman speeding determinedly towards the edge…

_No no no…_

Just at the last moment, however, the woman pulled up short, throwing out her arms to stop her momentum. Melinda staggered to a stop a few feet behind her, relieved and panting.

Also out of breath, the blonde finally turned, blue eyes meeting Melinda’s for the first time.

“I’ve dreamt of that for years,” she said in a surprisingly excited voice.

Melinda shook her head obliviously, continuing to pant. “Dying?”

A smile flickered across the woman’s face like a spark and was gone just as quickly. “Running.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A large chunk of this dialogue is word-for-word (English translation of) Celine Sciamma's script. It's an amazing film with an amazing script and if you haven't watched it you absolutely should. I'm hoping to change the ending in this fic though, so one might not spoil the other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda works on her painting. Bobbi continues to surprise her.

Melinda followed behind the other woman for most of their walk, but whenever the blonde lingered somewhere, Melinda stepped up to her shoulder in order to study her better. The landscape and seascape were breathtaking themselves, with the sea battering violently at the rocks below them, but Melinda wasn’t commissioned to study the scenery. The woman kept a fair distance between herself and the ledges most of the time, and eventually Melinda could feel herself relaxing after her brief scare earlier.

As they stood side-by-side on one outcropping facing the sea, Melinda stole a look to study the woman’s profile. The second time she looked, she found sharp blue eyes staring back at her.

“What is your name?” the blonde asked, her intense gaze nearly painful.

Melinda forced herself to stare back anyway. “Melinda.”

“I’m Bobbi,” the woman returned, facing the sea again. “Only my mother calls me Barbara.”

“Very well,” Melinda acknowledged, and Bobbi turned away, resuming her walk while Melinda trailed behind her.

There was not much conversation after that.

Several tendrils of blonde curls had fallen out of the bun on the back of Bobbi’s head by the time she conceded to the chilly breeze and led them back to the house. Melinda got the chance to study her ear better as she climbed the stairs behind Bobbi, holding her skirts out of the way.

At the top of the stone staircase, the woman abruptly faced Melinda, unsmiling.

“Did you bring a book?” she asked, only her eyes betraying any feeling of eagerness.

Melinda remembered a novel in her bag that had avoided a bath in the ocean yesterday. “Yes.”

“May I borrow it?”

She pictured her room, already set up an art studio.

“I’ll fetch it for you,” Melinda volunteered, turning towards her door.

She heard footsteps of Bobbi following her and formed quick explanation if she asked about the state of the room.

_I’m certain that I drew the curtains over the easel before I left…_

Thankfully, Bobbi only stood in the doorway as Melinda disappeared behind the curtains to fetch the book from her bag, moving as quickly as she could and hurrying back to the door to hand her the requested item.

“Thank you,” Bobbi said as Melinda placed the paperback in her hands. Melinda waited, unsure what to say next, but then Bobbi made a pointed glance around the almost-bare room.

“It’s odd that you sleep here,” she said, meeting Melinda’s eyes.

Melinda opened her mouth to respond with her prepared story, but Bobbi only turned on her heel and strode off down the hallway, her dark blue cape trailing in the air behind her.

~

Before the sun went down, Melinda finished preparing the canvas and then worked over her sketchbook for several hours. At sundown she ate dinner in the kitchen with the maid, who had already served the Countess and her daughter upstairs in the parlor. Alone again in her room, Melinda pushed the pages of sketch scraps around on the floor, working from memory to sort out the closest approximations of each of Bobbi’s features. Her hairline. Her profile. Her chin and mouth on the oblique. Her brow. Her eyes.

She had to wait for the morning’s light to begin sketching a rough outline onto the canvas with a charcoal pencil, working of the sketches at her feet. As usually happened when she was at work on a project, she lost track of time once she began applying the base colors to the face and shoulders.

She wasn’t sure how many times Daisy had already addressed her before Melinda noticed her through a part in the curtains.

“Miss? She’s waiting.”

Melinda immediately set her brush in water and laid her palette carefully aside. She shed her smock, rubbed her smudged hands frantically on it, and then stepped out to face Daisy.

“Is she downstairs?” she asked, pulling on her overcoat.

“Yes,” Daisy said, stepping closer and offering a thin, brown scarf. “I must cover you up before you go out, though. It’s windy today.”

Bobbi’s own scarf was twisted around her hairline and then stretched across the lower part of her face from ear to ear, meaning that this time, Melinda could only observe Bobbi from the eyes up. Today, those eyes seemed to be trained on her a bit more often, even if Bobbi remained mostly silent for the entire walk across the cliffs.

This time, Bobbi led her in a new direction to a narrow goat path that descended to a small cove where the low tide had left the beach dry. The blonde led the way to a place in the sun where she knelt on the sand as if at prayer, and Melinda assumed a place beside her on the cool sand.

In the day’s sunshine, Melinda had been taking in the way sunlight interacted with Bobbi’s golden curls for the better part of their walk. Now, with her front finally visible, Melinda noted her other proportions—the length of her arms, the distance between her waist and her knee…

“I’d like to bathe,” Bobbi said suddenly.

Melinda looked up, a little startled, and pulled the scarf down to her chin before answering. “Maybe on a calmer day.”

“Probably wise,” Bobbi agreed, watching the violent waves. “How long will you stay?”

“Six more days,” Melinda answered, wondering what the weather would permit in those days. “Do you swim?” she dared to ask next.

Bobbi looked her direction, finally pulling her own scarf down to her chin. “I don’t know.”

Melinda glanced out at the sea, treacherous even on pleasant days. “It’s too dangerous if you don’t know how to swim.”

“I mean I don’t know if I can swim,” Bobbi said with a tired look. “I’ve never tried.”

Melinda smiled a little, glancing down and noting the way Bobbi’s hands are clasped on her lap. _Left hand on the right wrist._

When Bobbi went further down the beach a few minutes later, Melinda ducked down to sit behind a large boulder and sketched the image quickly into her book.

~

At dinner, Melinda again ate in the kitchen with Daisy rather than the parlor with Bobbi and her mother.

“How was your day?” Daisy asked as she dished up Melinda’s stew.

“Difficult,” Melinda answered, sipping the ale he had been poured. “She always stays ahead of me while we’re walking. And I haven’t even seen her smile yet.”

“Have you tried being funny?” Daisy asked, causing Melinda to look up sharply at her cheekiness. Daisy was smiling herself though, and it brought the expression to Melinda’s own lips.

That night, Melinda began slowly adding skin tones to the canvas's rough sketch of a face by candlelight. Few who were not trained in painting understood just how many layers of color went into making something appear “green” or “white” or “gold”. Every color the naked eye could see might have a singular name, but it did not often require only a single shade of paint. Light gave everything multitudes. Artists were the coroners, dissecting everything beneath.

Bobbi’s face now was only a palette of whites, pinks, and blacks. More than once, Melinda had to stop and close her eyes, calling up the image of the young woman lit up with the sun this afternoon.

Not for the first time, she wished the woman was right in front of her, sitting for the painting in an orthodox manner, allowing Melinda to study her to her heart’s content while working.

She was grateful for six more days.

~

The next day was warmer and the sea calmer, so Bobbi was wearing neither a scarf nor a cape as they went out. She also had a small bag with her, from which she brought out a white sheet to lay over the sand for them to sit on after they arrived down in the cove. There was a large, branch-like pattern in blue thread across one corner, a long thread hanging off at one place.

“Is it unfinished?” Melinda asked when Bobbi began absently twisting the thread around one finger.

“My sister was embroidering it,” the woman answered without looking up, pulling her hand free of the thread.

“Do you think she wanted to die?” Melinda asked before she could change her mind.

Bobbi looked up sharply, her blue eyes as intense as ever. For the first time, Melinda seemed to have surprised her. “You’re the first person unafraid to ask that.”

“Apart from you?” Melinda asked, hoping she’d read it right.

Bobbi looked away. “Not out loud.” She paused, pursing her lips for a moment. “But yes…I do think that. In her last letter, she apologized for no reason.”

Melinda looked down at the incomplete blue pattern beneath them. It looked like it had received less attention than the unfinished portrait in the room she slept in. “What could she be apologizing for?”

Bobbi sighed, a sound swallowed up by the crashing waves. “For leaving me to her fate.”

Melinda finally caught Bobbi’s eye. “You make it sound so terrible,” she says, trying to strike a lighter tone.

Bobbi held her gaze for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. “What do you know of my marriage?”

Melinda cursed internally, glancing down and trying to form her cover story quickly.

“That you’re to wed a Milanese gentleman. That’s all.”

She could feel Bobbi still staring at her. “That’s all I know too. You can see why it worries me.”

“Put that way, I can,” Melinda agrees.

“I put it the way it is.” Bobbi was scowling, staring over at the sea, as if she could see Italy and its offensive suitor all the way on the other side.

“You would have rather stayed in the convent?” Melinda asked, trying to continue the conversation, however disagreeable, as long as Bobbi would allow it.

The blonde shrugged. “It’s a life that has its advantages. There’s a library. I can sing and hear music. And equality is a pleasant feeling.”

Melinda hummed noncommittally. “I found the convent unjust.” She smiled again at the way this earned another surprised expression from Bobbi. “I left after my first communion. I was punished for drawing in the margins of my notebooks.”

“You draw?”

Melinda cursed internally again.

“Yes, a little,” she admitted, and thankfully, Bobbi’s next question was not the one she feared.

“And you? when will you marry?”

“I don’t know if I will,” she answered.

“You don’t have to?” Bobbi asked, giving her another surprised look.

“No. I’ll take over my father’s business.”

_Please don’t ask what kind of business…_

But Bobbi only went on glaring at her, as if trying to set Melinda on fire with her mind. “You can choose. That’s why you do not understand me.”

Her words felt like a slap, but they still made Melinda reach for her, barely touching Bobbi’s hand with her fingertips.

“I understand you,” she promised.

~

The next morning, the Countess summoned Melinda to her parlor after breakfast.

“How are your days?” the woman asked after the customary small talk.

“We get back late,” Melinda admitted, aware that the clock was ticking down on her time here. “I have little light to work.”

“I’ll keep her here tomorrow,” the Countess said immediately. “You’ll be free to make progress.”

“Perhaps you could let her go out alone,” Melinda suggested cautiously. “She’s not sad. Just angry.”

“You think I don’t know her anger?” the woman asked sardonically, then muttered in Italian, “I know it well.” Her accent sounded native.

“Yes I know it too,” Melinda agreed in Italian also.

The woman’s eyes widened, but she did not look offended, only excited. “Where did you learn Italian?” she asked eagerly.

“In Milan,” Melinda said with a smile.

“Milan!” the Countess said with the first genuine smile Melinda had seen from her. “I can’t wait to go back. It’s been almost twenty years. Tell Barbara that Milan is beautiful.”

Melinda sighed. “She doesn’t talk to me much.”

The Countess looked away, sighing herself. “I wish she could see that this marriage is the best I can offer her. I’m not marrying her to the local gentry on this island. I’m trying to take her someplace better. She’ll be less bored in a place like Milan.”

Melinda nodded but did not answer, waiting on the lady.

“I’ll leave for the coast at the same time as you,” the Countess eventually said. “If you don’t have to return to Paris immediately, I have a friend who would like her portrait done.”

“Thank you,” Melinda said quickly, trying not to show just how elated a referral could make her. It was hard enough to grow her name in Paris—to grow it nationwide would be life-changing.

“It will be difficult. My friend is very ugly.” The Countess chuckled suddenly, seeming shocked by her own words, but she did not apologize, continuing to laugh. It was a beautiful sound, and Melinda eventually couldn’t help chuckling along with her.

When the woman finally regained her composure, she was still grinning, her cheeks flushed. “You made me laugh! It’s been ages since that happened.”

Melinda shook her head modestly. “I didn’t do anything.”

But when she met her eyes, the Countess was still smiling. “You’re here. It takes two to be funny.”

~

By that afternoon, Melinda had completed a face, a neck, and two disembodied hands, and it was time to begin work on the dress. The green garment had been lying on the back of the bed all day, and after propping a mirror against the back of her easel, Melinda squirmed into the garment herself, sitting carefully down on the ottoman so that she could study the way the light hit the material, how it crumpled and lay around her legs…

Someone knocked gently on the door, making her jump. “Melinda?” came Bobbi’s soft call from the other side.

Leaping to her feet, Melinda rushed behind the curtain, pulling it shut with a snap. She heard the door open as she hastily undid the ties of the top, then the skirt, abandoning the garment in an irreverent pile on the floor. She didn’t bother to put her own top back on as she stepped out from behind the curtain in her corset and skirt to discover, shockingly, Bobbi sitting patiently on the ottoman in nearly the exact same position as the painting. As usual, the blonde had a knowing look in her eye, but she said nothing at first, standing leisurely and making her way towards Melinda’s daybed, where her bag hung over one side.

“Do you have tobacco?” she asked as she turned Melinda’s direction again.

Startled by the request but grateful to not be interrogated about all the other suspicions in the room, Melinda fetched her pipe, packed it, and lit it before passing it to Bobbi. By then, the young woman had sat down on the edge of Melinda’s bed, so Melinda perched carefully beside her.

“Your mother will let you go out alone tomorrow,” she informed her. “You’ll be free.”

Bobbi released the smoke from her mouth and stared through it at Melinda. “Being alone is being free?”

Not for the first time even this minute, Melinda felt as if she was being tested. “You don’t think so?” she said instead of answering.

Bobbi took another puff from the pipe. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, passing the pipe back and forth, the room slowly taking on a soft haze.

“I think I’ll go to mass then,” Bobbi eventually said, waving off the pipe as Melinda offered it to her again. “I want to hear music.”

Melinda smiled to herself as she set the pipe aside on the thin, upright crate that she used as a nightstand. “Organ music is pretty, but bleak.”

“It’s all I know,” Bobbi said with a minute shrug.

“You’ve never heard an orchestra?” Melinda was surprised—a family with this kind of wealth had never made an experience like that a priority?

“No. Tell me about it,” Bobbi said—demanded.

“It’s not easy to relate music,” Melinda deflected, trying to remember her last time in a concert hall. She’d been in Paris, at one of the smaller venues that she could afford, and the evening had been showcasing a new name out of Italy…

An idea struck her, and Melinda crossed the room to the harpsichord. Without lifting the sheet, her fingers found the keys, striking a couple of notes lightly through its drape. Dark chords of anticipation—Vivaldi’s interpretation of summer.

“What is it?” Bobbi asked from across the room.

“A piece I love,” Melinda said, sitting down on the bench and continuing to hit the keys.

“Is it merry?” She could hear Bobbi approaching.

“Not merry,” Melinda said as Bobbi reached over her shoulder to move the sheet off the harpsichord, “but it’s lively.”

Bobbi sat down on the bench too, and Melinda shifted over to accommodate her. The bench was not very wide, so they were still pressed together at their hips. It was the closest they’d ever been to one another, and Melinda didn’t dare miss an opportunity to study the woman while she was so close. Without losing the rhythm of the music, she looked over at Bobbi. When the blonde turned as usual to meet her gaze, Melinda finally looked down at the keys again.

“It’s about a gathering storm,” she said, snapping the keys down in a faster rhythm. “The insects can sense it. They get agitated.” Her fingers stumbled, suddenly unable to find the right chords. “Well,” she said a moment later as she gave up, “you’ll hear the rest someday. Milan is a city of music.”

She glimpsed a smile on Bobbi’s lips just as her words make it fade. The hard look returned to the woman’s eyes, and Melinda could not help feeling as if she had failed the young woman.

“Then I can’t wait for Milan,” Bobbi finally said, looking down at the instrument.

“I’m saying that there will be good things,” Melinda attempted, her hand drifting towards Bobbi’s again.

She felt Bobbi’s gaze on her and bravely looked up to meet it.

“What you mean though is that, now and then, I’ll be consoled.”

Bobbi stood up and left the room, leaving the door open behind her.

~

The next morning after breakfast, Melinda asked the Countess’s permission to have Daisy assist her for the morning while they had the opportunity, without Bobbi around to suspect anything. The green dress fit the maid a bit loosely in the shoulders and a bit tight in the waist, but it didn’t matter. Melinda arranged the fabric as she wanted it, posed the young woman the way she needed her, and set to work.

Time disappeared again, and by the time Daisy asked for a rest in order to go downstairs and begin working on dinner, Melinda had finished the bulk of the work on the dress.

She followed the maid downstairs in order to fetch a glass of water for herself, wrapping her green-streaked fingers carefully around it.

She’d barely begun to drink however when the front door banged open, and Melinda switched the glass to her other hand and hid the evidence behind her back.

Bobbi stepped into the kitchen in her cape, her cheeks rosy from the wind, but she is nearly smiling.

“You look cheerful,” Melinda observed. “How was mass?”

“Good. I sang a lot,” Bobbi replied, moving around the table, an action that caused Melinda to pivot and shift towards the door, keeping her messy hand behind her. “Are you leaving me already?” Bobbi said, sounding a bit disappointed.

“Yes,” Melinda said, turning and tucking her paint-hand to her front.

“Will you come out with me tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Melinda promised, shifting towards the door.

“You know,” Bobbi called after her, causing Melinda to stop and look back over her shoulder, “in solitude, I felt the liberty you spoke of. But I also felt your absence.”

Melinda faced forward again, exhaling slowly and hoping that Bobbi didn’t catch the look of shock on her face.

~

Before sundown, the painting was done.

It needed to dry, of course—oils would not tolerate handling for a day or two—but now Melinda felt mostly relieved. Only a different suspense loomed ahead of her now.

“The portrait is finished,” she announced when the Countess called her to her parlor after dinner that evening.

“Are you happy with it?” the woman asked, looking hopeful.

“I think so,” Melinda said, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Let’s go see it,” the woman said, but Melinda set down her glass and leaned forward.

“May I ask a favor?” When the Countess nodded, Melinda took a deep breath. “I would like Bobbi—Barbara—to see it first. I’d like to tell her the truth myself.”

For a moment the woman seemed hesitant, but then she nodded.

“I understand. She’s very fond of you.”

Something hot jumped in Melinda’s chest. “How do you know?”

The woman smiled, gold in the firelight. “She talks about you.”

Back in her room, Melinda stared into her own fireplace, working through the different ways she could tell Bobbi the truth tomorrow.

_Your mysterious suitor wanted to see your picture first, and I came here to paint it._

_Your mother is paying me to be your friend._

_I’ve been dishonest with you this whole time._

_I’ve been studying you for days, but you know nothing about me._

_You thought you were being bold in ignoring the first painter, but your mother tricked you. We both tricked you…_

Downing the last of her wine, Melinda set the glass on the mantle. Striding purposefully to the dark corner, Melinda picked up the portrait that had preceded hers. The one with the ghostly, unfinished face.

_Was I any different? Am I any better?_

Carrying over a candle, Melinda knelt in front of the painting on the floor and leaned close. The candle became a spotlight as she scanned the canvas, studying the smaller details. This artist had favored a darker setting, so the shadows seemed more dramatic. There were more dark lines between folds of fabric, and even the shade of the dress seemed more intense. The hands were posed in a way that, after days observing Bobbi, seemed unnatural—one of the ghostly woman’s hands fingered a gold bracelet that Melinda knew the woman did not wear…

She leaned closer to inspect it, and suddenly the flame jumped from the wick to the canvas.

Instinctively, Melinda gasped, rocking back on her feet, ready to run for something to smother the fire. Oils burned fast—the flame had already grown, licking greedily up the canvas towards the cloud of smoke where a face should be…

Setting the candle aside, Melinda stood. Carefully, she picked up the canvas from its lowest corners, holding it and its fire far away from herself as she carried it to the hearth. She leaned into the fireplace and tucked the frame into the space, stepping back and watching it all—the unfinished portrait, the attempt of an artist, and the efforts of the woman to avoid her fate—burn.

It wasn’t a true likeness anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi sees her portrait. The moment surprises both of them.

The next day, the sky was cloudy again as Melinda followed Bobbi to a different beach, one with fewer rocks and cliffs and calmer waves. Bobbi had a book with her today, and after they spread out their sheet on the sand, she spent most of her time curled over it. Melinda hesitated in silence for nearly an hour, not wanting to ruin the day immediately, but eventually the tension became too much.

“Bobbi, I have to tell you something.”

She waited until the blonde looked up at her to continue.

“I’m a painter. I came here to paint you. I finished your portrait last night.”

At first, Bobbi said nothing, looking down at the book in her hands and closing it slowly. Her mouth pulled tight, a look Melinda could not decipher as anger or sadness.

“I see now why you praised the charms of exile,” Bobbi finally said, looking up with her sharp blue eyes. “You felt guilty.”

Startled, Melinda opened her mouth to contradict her, but then snapped it shut again. It was not entirely right, nor was it entirely wrong.

“Are you leaving soon, then?” Bobbi asked next, setting her book aside with a thud on the sand.

“Later today with your mother,” Melinda said with a nod.

Bobbi looked away, visibly gritting her teeth. She stared almost violently at the sea, as if willing it to part for her.

“Then I’ll bathe today,” she finally said, climbing to her feet.

Melinda opened her mouth to protest but then closed it as Bobbi strode forward, stopping short of the waves’ reach to strip off her garments one by one. Cape, shoes, dress, underskirt, corset, stockings…

Down to her shift, Bobbi walked forward into the surf, and Melinda shivered, remembering the cold of those waves only a few days before. She watched carefully as the woman slowly waded out into the water until it covered her legs, her waist, her shoulders… A particularly high swell came in, and Bobbi seemed to fall deliberately forward into it.

She didn’t last long after that—only a few minutes later, Bobbi was stumbling back out of the water, her shift clinging to her skin and dripping seawater. Melinda averted her eyes as soon as the woman was safely on the shore, staring down at the sand until Bobbi, wrapped in her cape and with her dress and other garments clutched against her front, staggered back to the sheet and sat down beside her.

“Well, can you swim?” Melinda asked over the chattering of Bobbi’s teeth.

The blonde shook her head, still glaring at the wives. “I still don’t know if I can.”

“You can float,” Melinda said with an attempt at levity, but Bobbi didn’t respond. Her whole body was now trembling. “Let’s go back,” Melinda suggested, but Bobbi shook her head resolutely, still staring straight ahead.

They were quiet for a while in the non-silence of the beach, but eventually Bobbi sighed through her chattering teeth.

“So this explains all your looks.”

Melinda did not respond, wondering just how much of her staring the blonde had actually noticed.

_Enough to notice._

Eventually, Bobbi started pulling her garments back on within the cocoon of her cape, and Melinda shifted behind her to help her lace her corset again. When she stood to pull on her skirt, Bobbi’s cold fingers were clumsy with its tie, so Melinda took care of that too, followed by the one on the front of the dress. It was the closest she had stood to the woman yet, but Melinda couldn’t summon the warmth to blush, not when all of her felt so cold.

“I want to see the portrait,” Bobbi eventually said as Melinda finished the tie and looked up at her. Bobbi drew her cape around herself like wings and stared back with her usual fearless gaze. “Show it to me.”

This time, Melinda was the dry one as they made the climb back up to the house. Bobbi seemed to warm a bit from the exertion, though the wind across the flat plain in front of the house was chilly, and Melinda worried about the woman catching cold. Inside, Bobbi did not even feint towards her own room, following Melinda straight through the door where she had been staying. Melinda felt nervous, just as she always did when about to show a painting to a patron, and she gestured for Bobbi to wait while she pushed back the curtains that revealed her easel and the paintbrushes that she’d cleaned off last night.

Bobbi’s face was as expressionless as usual as she approached the easel, studying it silently for several long moments.

“Is that me?” she finally asked, glancing over at Melinda.

“Yes?” Melinda answered, confused.

“Is that how you see me?” Bobbi said, staring hard at the image before her, and Melinda stared at it too.

The woman in the portrait was facing the viewer, smiling subtly. It was not an expression Melinda had ever seen on Bobbi’s face for more than a second, but it’s the expression a suitor across the sea would expect from a potential wife.

“It’s not only me,” Melinda tried to explain. “There are rules, conventions, ideas…”

“You mean there’s no life? No presence?” Bobbi said, stepping back from the easel and now staring at Melinda.

“Your presence is made up of fleeting moments that may lack truth,” Melinda countered.

_Just because you always seem angry doesn’t mean it’s all you are…_

“Not everything is fleeting,” Bobbi said then, holding her gaze. “Some feelings are deep.” The combination of her words and her eyes almost made Melinda shiver, but then Bobbi turned back to the painting. “The fact that it isn’t close to me, I can understand. But I find it sad that it isn’t close to you.”

“How do you know it isn’t close to me?” Melinda snapped. “I didn’t know you were an art critic.”

Bobbi looked over at her again, appearing almost disappointed. “I didn’t know you were a painter.”

She turned away, moving towards the door. “I’ll fetch my mother.”

Melinda remained frozen long after Bobbi had left the room, until the woman’s footsteps had echoed away across the second-floor hall. She rubbed her brow, pacing back and forth for a moment, then turned to stare at her finished work.

_What does she know—she’s not an artist._

_You’ve received harsher criticism from more esteemed people before, Melinda. Don’t let her words bother you…_

_It’s a fine painting. It captured her well—she looks presentable for a suitor…_

_But it’s not_ her _. That portrait isn’t her, and you know it._

The woman staring back at her looked demure, unbothered, peaceful. Three words Melinda would never have used to describe Bobbi to a stranger. With this picture, Melinda was sending a false image to a stranger who could summon the woman to become his wife. Bobbi would arrive, and he wouldn’t know what had happened to the woman in the portrait.

Melinda could hear footsteps echoing down the corridor. Looking at the spread of her drying paintbrushes on the cloth at her elbow, Melinda acted quickly, before she could change her mind.

Snatching up the damp cloth, she balled it into her fist and shoved it into the only other face in the room, then gave it a smear for good measure. When she pulled her hand back, Bobbi’s face was a swirl of molten colors with no features left distinguishable, as if she were melting off the canvas.

Melinda threw down the rag and gave herself thirty seconds to cry before the Countess walked into the room.

The older woman was, understandably, shocked and confused. Melinda stood silently with her hands folded in front of her as the Countess inspected the ruined painting before whirling on her. Bobbi had returned with her mother and remained studying the altered painting as the Countess marched up to Melinda.

“It wasn’t good enough,” Melinda said apologetically. “I’ll start again.”

“You’re joking,” the Countess responded, her gaze hard.

“I’m sorry,” Melinda said, bowing her head. “It wasn’t satisfactory.”

The Countess huffed out a breath. “You’re incompetent then. You can leave.”

“She’s staying,” Bobbi interjected, making them both turn her direction. The blonde stood between them and the canvas with her arms folded. “I’ll pose for her.”

Melinda’s stomach swooped for more than one reason.

“Really?” the Countess said, approaching her daughter. “Why?”

Bobbi did not appear intimidated. “What does it change for you?”

The Countess held her daughter’s gaze for a moment and then shook her head. “Nothing.”

A beat of silence passed, and Melinda held her breath. She didn’t dare look at Bobbi, waiting only on the Countess’s decision.

“I’ll be away five days,” the woman eventually said in her direction. “When I return, it will be finished. And I decide, not you. Understand?”

The warning appeared to be directed both of them, so Melinda nodded along with Bobbi. The Countess nodded curtly, then faced her daughter once more.

“Say goodbye like when you were small,” the woman whispered in a voice so soft that Melinda could barely hear it.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then Bobbi brought both hands to her own mouth and kissed her fingertips. Moving them across the space between them like flapping butterfly wings, those fingertips eventually came to rest softly against her mother’s cheeks. The Countess closed her eyes, and Melinda, feeling as though she was intruding on a terribly intimate moment, turned away. Lifting the ruined canvas from the easel, she carried it over to the corner of the room and leaned it against the wall near the fireplace.

She would burn it later—she had no intention of carrying this memory home with her.

~

The Countess left in the morning, and by then, Melinda had finished preparing a new canvas. In the morning light, she set up her room for its new purpose, pushing back the curtains fully, assembling a low stage for her subject, positioning the ottoman on top for a seat.

Bobbi suddenly materialized in the doorway, and Melinda’s breath caught at the sight of her in the emerald gown at last. Bobbi stared at her expectantly as she entered, and Melinda finally remembered herself, gesturing to the stage.

“Sit down.”

Bobbi held her skirts out of the way as she stepped up onto the stage and seated herself, obviously unfamiliar with the garment and the way it required her to move. Melinda helped her with the bustle, laying the fabric in a suitable way, then stepped back to pose the woman.

“Turn your chest towards me,” she directed from the corner of the stage, and Bobbi angled her body appropriately. “Turn your head slightly,” Melinda continued, pointing towards the canvas. “A little more.”

She studied the pose and decided what was missing, then turned to grab the upright crate that she had been using as a nightstand. Propping it on the stage next to the ottoman, she pointed Bobbi to it.

“Rest your arm here.”

When Bobbi awkwardly laid her arm over it, Melinda frowned.

“Not like that. May I?”

“Sure.”

This time, Bobbi’s skin was warm as Melinda folded her elbow in, then positioned her hands, the lower resting on the upper.

“Are you comfortable?” Melinda said after gesturing to Bobbi to lift her chin again.

“Yes.” Bobbi was staring somewhere over Melinda’s shoulder.

“Can you hold this position?” she asked as she adjusted the green skirt once more.

“Yes.”

Melinda moved back behind her easel and picked up a charcoal pencil.

“Look at me.”

Bobbi’s blue gaze turned on fully, and Melinda suddenly could barely breathe. Muscle memory took over as she forced her hand towards the easel.

Charcoal met canvas, and a fresh start began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally gasped when she ruined her painting in the movie. I don't know if it's possible to capture the drama of that moment in written words but I did my best.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda works on the portrait with Bobbi. Daisy admits to some news. The three of them try to resolve it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeee didn't mean to step away from this fic for so long but please enjoy the long(er) update!

That afternoon, it started raining before the sun went down, just after Melinda finally stopped painting for the day. She still took her supper in the kitchen with the maid, Bobbi still took hers in the parlor, and they did not see each other again in the evening. Rain was still pelting the windows when Melinda lay down for the night, but she could not fall asleep despite the soothing sound. A familiar, unwelcome ache had already begun in her lower back, and before long it spread across her entire abdomen. Knowing what was coming did not make Melinda any less frustrated when she checked her garment after a few dreadful hours and found the telltale red stain beneath her legs.

Unfortunately, she did not pack for this when she prepared for her brief stay at the manor, so Melinda lit her candle and went down to the kitchen to ask for the maid’s help. Daisy quickly fetched her some cotton rags, then encouraged Melinda to sit while she prepared her something for the pain.

“The cherry pits hold heat well,” Daisy explained as she poured a few from a pot over the fire onto a cloth, which she tied up by the corners. “The heat will do you good.”

Melinda tucked the warm bundle against her stomach, sighing as a hint of relief immediately started to spread through her body.

“Thank you,” she said with a grateful look in Daisy’s direction.

“I usually have one ready,” Daisy said as she rubbed her hands together self-consciously, “but I haven’t had my monthlies in a while.”

Melinda turned slowly towards her. “In how long?”

Daisy bit her lip. “Three months.”

Melinda held her gaze. “Do you want a child?”

Daisy shook her head quickly. “No. I was waiting for Mistress to leave, and then I was going to see to it.”

Melinda nodded solemnly. “I’ll help you.”

~

It was impossible to take time off painting without explaining to Bobbi why they needed to, but Melinda allowed Daisy to do the talking. Bobbi’s face remained as impassive as ever as she listened to Daisy explain her situation, but she murmured a quiet promise to not tell her mother, then accompanied Daisy and Melinda out the door without being invited.

For the first time, Melinda did not study Bobbi as they walked down to the shore.

Down on one of the bigger beaches, Melinda directed the lady to stand several dozen meters away from her, then instructed Daisy to start running laps between them. The young woman threw everything she had into it and ran out of breath rather quickly.

“A little more,” Melinda encourages, giving a panting Daisy a push back towards Bobbi despite Daisy’s protests.

Daisy made one more lap and was headed back towards Melinda when she stumbled and then spilled forward onto the sand. Concerned, Melinda immediately hurried towards her, but Bobbi got there first and offered Daisy a hand up. The maid seemed surprised as the blonde helped her to her feet, but Bobbi said nothing, only briefly meeting Melinda’s eyes as she turned away again to resume her place further down the beach.

Daisy ran a little longer, until a terrible stitch in her side forced her to sit and rest, and Melinda and Bobbi flanked her to sit down beside her.

“So…wearing yourself out…is helpful?” Daisy panted, glancing at Melinda, who nodded.

“It’s better than getting into a fight—that’s the other simplest method.”

“I suppose…we could do that too…” Daisy was trying to smile as though it were a joke, but Melinda shook her head severely.

“No. I won’t help you in that way.”

“There’s another way I've heard of…some of the other women…talk about it…but we’ll have to go…to the pastures across the island.”

The three of them didn’t talk much on their hike, and when they arrived, Daisy described the plant they were looking for. Bobbi was the first one to find something worth taking home, and hunger and the nearing dusk eventually drove them that direction rather quickly. For the first time, the three of them ate supper together at the large kitchen table, an easy meal of bread, cheese, and sausages. Afterwards, Daisy set her special tea steeping, then climbed up a small stepladder to hang by her hands from one of the beams in the ceiling, another trick she insisted other women have said would help.

Melinda kept an eye on the tea and offered a cup of it to Daisy when it had turned the appropriate color. The young woman climbed carefully down the stepladder and drank the cup down to the dregs, wincing at the bitter taste.

“Will it be enough?” Melinda asked, taking the cup from her.

Daisy wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and lifted her skirt, already climbing back up the stepladder. “We’ll see.”

Bobbi, seated at the table with a book in front of her, was watching Daisy closely when Melinda turns around. The woman’s blue gaze had shifted to Melinda as she sat down at her elbow and lit her pipe.

“Has it happened to you?” Bobbi’s question seemed honest, not judgmental.

Melinda blew out a pull of smoke, holding the memory at arm’s length in her mind’s eye. “Yes,” she admitted, finding Bobbi’s blue eyes through the haze.

The woman’s hair shimmered with reflected firelight. “You’ve known love,” she said quietly.

Melinda found herself unable to look away. “Yes.”

Bobbi leaned closer, still holding Melinda’s gaze captive. “What is it like?”

Melinda’s breath hitched, and a dozen phrases flitted across her mind.

_Like music. Equally magical and transcendent, and just as hard to describe._

“It’s hard to say.”

Bobbi leaned closer still. “I mean, how does it feel?”

Melinda stared at her, unable—or perhaps afraid—to speak. There were no words adequate.

Suddenly, with a crash, Daisy fell.

The young woman was woozy and disoriented as Bobbi and Melinda helped her sit up, and Melinda wasn’t sure if it was from the fall itself or whether the tea had induced the fall, but thankfully none of the girl’s bones appeared broken or out of place. Either way, Daisy obviously could not help herself for the moment, so Melinda took charge and directed Bobbi to help her lift the girl and carry her between them out the kitchen and up to Melinda’s room.

In the converted reception room, they lay Daisy out on the daybed, and Melinda set about removing the girl’s shoes while Bobbi lit and stoked the fire. Daisy still had not woken by the time the fire was burning merrily, so Melinda also unpinned the woman's apron and lay it aside, then she and Bobbi maneuvered Daisy further into the bed, away from the edge.

Melinda went back downstairs to fetch her pipe and Bobbi’s book and to put out the kitchen fire, and by the time she got back upstairs, Bobbi had lain down herself, stretched out on her side next to Daisy, still fully clothed. Melinda set the book quietly near her, but Bobbi did not stir, so Melinda stared openly at the dozing woman.

It was the most peaceful she’d ever seen Bobbi look.

Slipping off her own shoes, Melinda stole across the room to fetch her sketchbook and pencils, perching again near Bobbi’s hip on the edge of the bed and studying her in the firelight, giving her pencils free reign over the page.

She was halfway through the sketch of Bobbi’s sleeping face when Melinda glanced up at her subject and felt her stomach drop within her.

Bobbi’s eyes were suddenly open, watching her attentively. Melinda’s pencil froze on the paper, waiting for Bobbi’s reaction. For a moment, they held each other’s gazes in silence.

Then Bobbi stretched slightly, rolling onto her back before lying still again, watching Melinda expectantly.

_Well?_

Cautiously, Melinda smiled, allowing her pencil to begin moving again.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she could have sworn that Bobbi, for a moment, smiled back.

~

The next morning, Daisy seemed to have recovered, because she woke Melinda up before the crack of dawn by climbing out of the bed that they had shared all night.

“I need to get down to the kitchen,” she murmured as she crawled over Melinda, who waved off her apologies. “Where are my shoes?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Melinda murmured sleepily, watching Daisy twist her long, dark hair up into a bun again.

“I feel fine,” Daisy said quickly, though she seemed perplexed by this fact. She snatched up her apron and shoes and hurried for the door.

Daisy was hard at work preparing breakfast by the time Melinda dressed and made it down to the kitchen. The young woman seemed to be moving steadily enough on her feet, but Melinda offered to help anyway. Daisy looked surprised, but after an awkward moment, she instructed Melinda to start warming the milk over the fire.

Bobbi surprised them both by joining them for breakfast in the kitchen, and after a visible hesitation, Daisy sat down with them and ate rather than waiting on the lady first.

“Should we go to the beach again this afternoon?” Bobbi inquired at one point, and she and Melinda looked expectantly at Daisy.

The young woman shrugged.

“We’ll see.”

With a deadline still ahead, Melinda announced that they needed to at least paint through the morning, so she and Bobbi trooped back upstairs. Melinda prepared her paints while Bobbi donned the green gown again, and after a few hours, Bobbi’s face on the canvas was nearly done.

Laying her brush aside for a moment, Melinda pursed her lips as she studied the product of her labor.

“I can’t make you smile,” she murmured, glancing up at Bobbi. “I feel like I’m doing it, and then it vanishes.”

The woman in this portrait certainly looked a true likeness of the person in front of her, unlike last time. Bobbi had never smiled from the stage in front of Melinda, so why would she expect the portrait to do so?

“Anger comes to the fore,” Bobbi said, quirking a brow.

Melinda huffed. “Definitely with you.”

Bobbi held her gaze as she exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Melinda apologized quickly.

Bobbi shook her head once, rubbing her mouth. “You haven’t hurt me.”

“I can tell I have,” Melinda said without thinking. “When you’re moved, you do that with your hand.”

Bobbi looked amused, slowly pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

“Really,” the blonde said slowly.

“Yes,” Melinda said, unable to look away. “And when you’re embarrassed, you bite your lips. And when you’re annoyed, you don’t blink.”

Bobbi, who indeed had not blinked, now seemed to do it very intentionally. “You know it all,” she said, shaking off the words Melinda had just spoken.

Melinda forced herself now to look down at her paints. “Forgive me. I’d hate to me in your place, being studied so closely for so long.”

“We’re in the same place,” Bobbi said, a little sharply, causing Melinda to look up at her. The woman had relaxed the pose Melinda had placed her in, her hands now folded sternly on her lap. “Being studied? You’re in exactly the same place as me. Come here.”

It’s spoken like an order, and though Melinda knew she did not have to obey (she was employed by the Countess, not the daughter), she set aside her brush and did as she was told. 

Bobbi held her gaze as Melinda stepped out from behind her easel and approached the small platform. Bobbi, seated on it, was now perfectly at her eye level.

“Step closer,” the blonde ordered as Melinda stopped within a foot of her. Barely breathing, Melinda shifted closer, her hands brushing the material of the woman’s skirt. Cautiously, she met Bobbi’s sharp gaze again.

“Look,” Bobbi ordered, gesturing with her chin to the work station in front of her. Melinda looked, now from Bobbi’s perspective, at what her subject saw. “If you look at me,” Bobbi asked quietly, “who do you think I’m looking at?”

Flustered, Melinda looked down, one hand coming up to rub her brow.

“When you don’t know what to say, you touch your forehead,” Bobbi said quietly, just beside her. “And when you lose control, you raise your eyebrows.”

Melinda pivoted slowly, finding Bobbi’s gaze solidly on her again. Their faces were very close together.

“And when you’re troubled,” Bobbi finished in barely a whisper, “you breathe through your mouth.”

Melinda was barely hearing her, losing herself instead in eyes like the sky after a storm…her hand drifted up, wanting to touch what that she’s spent all morning painting and learn it in a different way…

_Painting…_

Melinda forced herself to turn away, covering the distance back to her easel in four determined steps. Back behind the safety of her easel, she cautiously met Bobbi’s eyes again. Her subject had resumed her pose, though now her gaze looked rather resigned.

Melinda could not help feeling that she had somehow just failed a test.

~

That night after supper, Melinda brought out a deck of cards and asked if Daisy would like to play with her when the dishes were done.

“And me?” Bobbi prompted from where she was lingering over her wine and empty plate—they had all eaten together again today.

Melinda was sure Daisy was as surprised as her, but the maid nodded eagerly.

“Of course, Miss.”

Cards would have been forbidden in a convent, but Bobbi surprised them both by already being familiar with the games of Slaps. The game began innocently enough, with them all turning over cards somewhat carefully, but once Daisy slapped her first winning hand, the tension in the room seemed to burst. The next hand was an all-out war, and Bobbi made face Melinda had never seen on her when Daisy managed to steal the hand out from under her.

“I win!” Daisy teased as she tucks the cards under her deck.

“Concentrate,” Melinda told Bobbi with a wink, but Bobbi was now focused on the cards as the three of them begin to flip again. The game was going much faster now.

“You’re cheating!” Melinda exclaimed, trying to keep up with Bobbi’s pace.

“I’m not!” Bobbi said, glancing up with a disarming grin.

It was breathtaking.

Melinda lost the next hand and didn’t care a bit.

Bobbi glanced up at her with a knowing smirk as she gathered in her cards, and though Melinda was sure she was grinning shamelessly and Daisy was obviously watching both of them, she didn’t look away until it was time to turn her next card.

~

The third day of painting was overcast and chilly all morning, and though Melinda stoked the fire up tall, the warmth didn’t quite reach their painting area. Melinda put on her artist’s smock for warmth, and Bobbi had a scarf draped around her neck and shoulders for most of the morning. They did not chat much, and neither mentioned the moment from the night before, so Melinda disappeared into her work for as long as she could. She worked from memory as she journeyed through the painting down Bobbi’s chin to the collar of her dress.

“Uncover your throat,” Melinda said when she must, and Bobbi tugged the scarf down to expose her neck. Melinda sighed internally. “More.”

Annoyed, Bobbi pulled the scarf all the way off, tossing it on the floor before resuming her pose. “You have my future husband in mind,” she said, and Melinda huffed out a small laugh.

_Not as much as I used to, otherwise you’d be smiling in this portrait…_

“Do you paint nude models too?” Bobbi asked, a question that surprised Melinda.

“Women, yes,” she answered, continuing to paint her way across Bobbi’s collarbones.

“Why not men?”

Melinda shook her head without looking up. “I’m not allowed to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a woman.”

“Is it a matter of modesty?”

Now, Melinda glanced up. Bobbi did look genuinely curious. “It’s mostly to keep women from doing great art. Without any notion of male anatomy, the main subjects of art escape us.”

Bobbi cocked her head. “So how do you manage?”

Melinda smirked. “I do it in secret. It’s tolerated.”

Bobbi quirked a brow at her.

“What do you tell your models to amuse them?”

“Are you bored?” Melinda asked, mirroring her look.

“No,” Bobbi said, her gaze revealing that this, today anyway, was true. “I’m interested in you.”

Melinda smiled cautiously, going back to her painting. “Your complexion is remarkable today. You’re very elegant. You pose beautifully. You’re pretty.”

She looked up at Bobbi, who seems to be glowing under the praise. “That’s what I tell them,” Melinda finished.

For the first time, Bobbi smiled at her, and it seemed to be on purpose.

~

That afternoon, Melinda and Bobbi cooked dinner together while Daisy drank more of her special tea and rested, embroidering the sheet that had gone down to the beach with them a few days before. After dinner, Bobbi brought down a book instead of cards, offering to read to them. Melinda had read Ovid’s words before, but the story was brand new to Daisy, who listened enrapt, hanging on every word. Melinda was enrapt too, but for another reason entirely, listening as Bobbi described the widower’s journey down into the underworld to rescue his dearly departed wife.

“ _Oh, gods of the underworld to which all mortals descend,_

_I am here to seek my wife._

_A viper that she trod on poisoned her and robbed her of her youth_

_I beseech you, unravel the thread of Eurydice’s early demise_

_All will be yours. We all end up here. This is our final abode._

_You reign over the human race._

_After living out her fair span of years, she will be yours._

_If the fates refuse my wife this favor, I am determined not to return._

_You may delight in both our deaths.”_

“He’s convincing” Daisy murmured, her eyes wide.

“Very,” Melinda agreed.

“I hope they say yes,” Daisy said breathlessly, nodding eagerly for Bobbi to continue.

“ _Then, for the first time, tears wet the cheeks of Eumenides, won over by his words. Neither the king’s bride nor Hades himself could resist his prayer._

_They sent for Eurydice. She was there among the recent spirits, and she approached, limping from her wound. She was returned to Orpheus on the condition that he would not look back until outside, or the favor would be void. In deep silence, they took a sloping path, steep and dark, shrouded in thick mist._

_They were nearing the surface, approaching the threshold, when, fearing to lose Eurydice and impatient to see her, her loving spouse turned, and she was instantly drawn back. She reached out for his embrace and wished to hold him. Her poor hands clutched only empty air. Dying for a second time, she did not complain. His sole fault was loving her.”_

Daisy’s hand struck the table sharply, startling Melinda.

“That’s horrible!” the younger woman cried, her face aghast. “Poor woman, why did he turn? He was told not to, but he did for no reason.”

“He’s madly in love,” Bobbi said with a shrug. “He can’t resist.”

“I think Daisy has a point,” Melinda said, glancing at the young woman. “He could resist. His reason isn’t good enough. Perhaps he makes a choice.”

“What choice?” Daisy says, looking her direction.

Melinda puts herself in the man’s position. “He chooses the memory of her. That’s why he turns. He doesn’t make the lover’s choice, but the poet’s.”

For a moment, the three of them were silent, considering this, then Bobbi tipped her book down to catch the light and read again, “ _She spoke a last farewell that scarcely reached his ears and fell back into the abyss…”_

Bobbi lowered her book, looking up at Melinda.

“Perhaps _she_ was the one who said ‘turn around’.”

~

Late that evening, the three of them trooped outside, headed for a bonfire that Daisy had heard would be happening just outside the small town. When they arrived, Melinda noticed first that there were no men in sight, and second that Bobbi was the only lady there—everyone else appeared to be local workers. Daisy left their side to go and speak in hushed tones to a middle-aged woman on the far side of the fire who was accompanied by three daughters, the youngest appearing maybe six or seven.

“She says I’m still pregnant and to come see her in two days,” Daisy murmured after she made her way back to Melinda a bit later.

“I’ll go with you,” Melinda promised soberly, brushing Daisy’s hand. Daisy smiled gratefully before taking a sip of wine directly from a bottle that was being passed around.

After a few moments, by some unspoken signal, the women began to sing, dividing the parts and harmonies without direction and creating something transcendent within the circle around the fire. Melinda watched them, smiling in awe, for several magical minutes before remembering to look around for Bobbi, see her reaction.

The lady was standing on the other side of the fire. She had cast off her cape and, in her navy gown, nearly blurred into the darkness behind her, only her hands, neck, and face glowing the color of the fire. She too was smiling, and as their eyes met, she held Melinda’s gaze as she stepped around the fire, shifting in Melinda’s direction.

The women continued to sing, but Melinda ceased to breathe for a moment.

Bobbi’s skirt was on fire.

Melinda stood frozen, unable even to cry out, but Bobbi seemed to read her face, looking down at the flame licking up the hem of her skirt.

She did not react either, only looked up again at Melinda.

She didn’t even look afraid.

Thankfully, plenty of other people had noticed by then, and another woman rushed over with a blanket to smother the flame. Bobbi fell, letting the women help her, and finally, Melinda was able to move, rushing to her side and offering her hand to Bobbi.

The woman reached up and grabbed her hand, holding on tight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda and Bobbi change the game. Daisy changes her future.

The next afternoon, after a morning of painting in near-silence, Bobbi announced that she wanted to go down to the beach after the mid-day meal. She did not invite Daisy.

Like the second day, it was windy, and they both tied scarves across their faces to protect their cheeks from the stinging wind. Like the first day, Bobbi lit out from the front door at a determined pace, not speaking at all, and it was all Melinda could do to keep up with her. This time, she led the way to a beach Melinda had not visited before, a place where boulders spilled down a rocky cliff towards the sand. Only there did Bobbi pause, allowing Melinda to catch up to her and survey the way down. The climb was doable, but it would take plenty of effort in both directions.

“Let’s find another place,” Melinda suggested, but Bobbi only shook her head silently, hitching up her skirt and stepping down to the first boulder. She turned, offering a hand of assistance, and Melinda took her hand.

They made their way slowly down towards the beach, a strange dance of alternating leading, taking turns helping each other. When they finally reached the sand, Bobbi stepped down first, then turned to help Melinda jump down from the final boulder onto the soft sand. Bobbi turned and led the way, her hand lingering around Melinda’s for several steps before she let go and veered towards a space carved out beneath the rocks by higher tides. Melinda hesitated as Bobbi slipped out of sight, unsure if she was meant to follow. Curiosity finally won out, however, and she strode forward.

Bobbi was standing in the middle of the vault beneath the rock, surrounded by shadows, and for a second, Melinda thought of Eurydice, waiting for her lover on the other side of darkness _._ The blonde stared at Melinda expectantly as she approached, neither of them speaking. Five steps brought Melinda just within arm’s reach of Bobbi. They were both breathing hard, perhaps from the climb down.

Perhaps.

Bobbi still had not looked away when Melinda cautiously reached out, finding the woman’s hand within the wing of her cape, asking a question without words. Bobbi’s gaze drifted down to her lips, and the distance between them began to close. The hand in Melinda’s pulled away, reached up to tug down her scarf…

Their lips met, and Melinda willed time to stop.

Bobbi’s lips were soft, though chilled by the wind, and Melinda wondered if her own lips felt the same. Her neglected hand found Bobbi’s waist to draw her closer…

And suddenly, Bobbi pulled away.

She was not looking at her when Melinda’s eyes opened. She did not look her as she turned and swiftly left the cave, plunging out into the daylight again, doing what Eurydice could never do.

Once again, Melinda felt as though she had failed a test. This time, however, it hurt so much more.

~

Bobbi kept what felt like miles of distance between them as they covered the length of the beach, where a goat path eventually emerged at one end. The blonde charged up it without waiting to see if Melinda could also make the climb all right. By the time Melinda reached the top, Bobbi was only a dark shape striding over the pasture, headed back in the direction of the house. Discouraged, Melinda took her time following her, allowing Bobbi to distance herself, if that was what she wanted.

 _You tried,_ Melinda told herself. _You didn’t misunderstand her. But perhaps she misunderstood herself._

The table was set for three when Melinda finally got back to the house, heading to the kitchen to see if Bobbi’s cape was hung on the wall, if the woman had made it back all right. Daisy was working over the stove, but as Melinda came in to hang up her coat and scarf next to Bobbi’s cape, the younger woman brought a pot of stew to the table and began dishing up the plate nearest Melinda, who sat down, watching the door. Daisy served a second plate, and then, surprisingly, sat down and picked up her spoon.

“What about Bobbi?” Melinda asked quickly, but Daisy shook her head as she took a bite.

“She said she isn’t well and doesn’t want dinner.” The woman continued eating, seeming unbothered, and Melinda reluctantly followed suit.

The sun had set by the time the dishes are done, and Melinda took a candle to climb the stairs up to her room. As she rounded the corner, she saw a soft glow coming from her room and smiled, grateful that Daisy had already lit the fire. She blew out the candle and left it on the table in the hallway. Once she reached the doorway, however, she realized that her room was not empty.

Bobbi was standing in front of the blazing fire, facing Melinda as she entered, and the intensity of her gaze made Melinda’s heart immediately begin to race. Bobbi looked completely different than she did when they stood underground, and for some reason, Melinda now felt even less afraid as she approached her.

Bobbi never looked away as Melinda slowly drew near again, and this time, Melinda didn’t hesitate to walk right into Bobbi’s space. This time, however, she didn’t reach for her, only leaned in, nodding forward until her forehead rested on Bobbi’s bare collarbone. Waiting. After a suspenseful second, warm arms came gently around her shoulders, and Melinda exhaled in relief.

“I thought you’d been scared off,” she whispered, still not looking up at Bobbi.

“You were half-right,” Bobbi whispered back, her lips brushing Melinda’s hair. “I am scared.”

Melinda felt a curl of warm air as Bobbi lowered her head to Melinda’s shoulder, breathing against her skin. With her eyes closed, Melinda slowly pivoted until her back rested against Bobbi’s front, clasping the hand that fell to her waist while Bobbi’s other hand glided delicately down her neck.

“Do all lovers feel like they’re inventing something?” Bobbi breathed against Melinda’s temple. Soft fingertips brushed over Melinda’s lips, and Melinda chased them with a dazed kiss. “I know the gestures,” Bobbi continued in a whisper. “I imagined it all, waiting for you.”

Melinda’s heart leapt in her chest. “You dreamed of me?” she breathed.

“No. I thought of you.”

Breathlessly, Melinda turned around. Bobbi glowed like an ember in the firelight.

Their lips met again, and Melinda had never been so happy to be consumed.

~

The next morning, she woke up to the sound of knocking.

The sun was already well up as Melinda blinked awake, levering herself up on one elbow and squinting towards the door

“You don’t want to come anymore?” Daisy’s voice called from the other side.

Behind her, someone shifted, and Melinda glanced back to see Bobbi, still sound asleep, the duvet pulled up to her chin. Joy and affection squeezed the space behind her ribs, and Melinda wanted nothing more than to roll over and disappear into last night’s ecstasy once more.

But she promised Daisy.

“I’m coming,” Melinda called. Her words woke Bobbi, who blinked awake and looked quickly around, a little startled at the sight of Melinda. She seemed slightly confused, but after a long second, her face broke into a shy smile.

“Get up,” Melinda whispered, squeezing the woman’s side beneath the blanket. Instead of rising though, Bobbi grinned and quickly pulled Melinda back down.

~

At the midwife’s house, Daisy knocked bravely, but it took a long while for anyone to answer the door. While they waited, Daisy paced, Bobbi sat, Melinda stood, observing as always. A small girl eventually opened the door, and the three of them ducked into the dark, single-room home. All the woman’s children were there now—in addition to the daughters Melinda had seen at the bonfire, there was a baby boy rolling around on the large bed with the youngest daughter watching over him. The midwife instructed Daisy to strip down to her shift, and the second-oldest girl helped her unlace her corset while Melinda and Bobbi stood back in the shadows near the door. The oldest daughter was on a low stool near the fire working a mortar and pestle while her mother adds herbs to it a little at a time.

Melinda tried to focus on what the light was doing on everyone’s skin, hair, clothes…

Daisy was directed to lie down on the bed with the smaller children still rolling on the other half of it. When she was satisfied with the contents of the bowl, the midwife carried it and a short stool over, seating herself at Daisy’s feet.

“Bend your knees. Feet on the bed.”

She lay a cloth down on the mattress between Daisy’s feet.

“Deep breaths,” the woman said gently before setting to work.

Melinda looked away. Bobbi never did.

When it was all done, the midwife instructed Daisy to stay supine on the bed for at least an hour, and Daisy nodded silently, pursing her lips. While they waited, Bobbi announced that they should take a carriage home, and left the house on her own to go search for one on the roads. Though a little worried about Bobbi, Melinda stayed with Daisy, venturing cautiously to the bed and kneeling near the girl’s head. She could see tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Well done,” Melinda said quietly, brushing Daisy’s hand briefly with her own. “It’s over.”

Daisy let out a slow, shaky breath and said nothing. Only then did Melinda realize that on her other side, she was holding the baby’s hand.

After the hour had passed, Melinda helped Daisy dress again, sliding up her stockings, tying her shoes, lacing Daisy’s corset loosely and tying her cloak around her neck. As she helped her stand, Daisy’s eyes finally met hers.

“Thank you,” the girl mouthed, not even a whisper, and Melinda nodded.

Bobbi was waiting with a carriage outside, and she helped Daisy into the cab before pulling Melinda up after her. Their hands did not linger together, but she did feel Bobbi squeeze her fingers briefly before she let go.

Back at the manor, the two of them helped Daisy slowly ascend the stairs and put her to bed in Melinda’s room again, bringing her soup and wine and fussing over her until the girl fell asleep just after dusk.

Once the fire was burning well, Melinda and Bobbi deconstructed the stage from the portrait sessions, bringing the crates and ottoman close enough to enjoy the fire’s warmth and talk quietly.

“She’ll be all right?” Bobbi said, glancing briefly in Daisy’s direction.

“After a day or two,” Melinda assured her, reaching for Bobbi’s hand. The blonde allowed their fingers to lace together, compounding each other’s warmth.

“How long ago did it happen to you?” Bobbi asked, her bright gaze flicking back to Melinda.

Melinda sighed, looking towards the fire. “I was just a bit younger than Daisy,” she answered. “I was in love. I thought it wouldn’t happen to us. But I wasn’t ready to be a wife or a mother.”

“Is this why you prefer the company of women?” Bobbi asked, catching Melinda’s eye with a suggestive smirk, but Melinda glared at her, withdrawing her hand.

“I prefer the company of people I love. There is no exclusion on the basis of sex.”

“How Classical of you,” Bobbi muttered, quirking a brow.

“Twice the capacity for love,” Melinda shrugged, looking away.

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, thinking their own thoughts, until Bobbi drew a cautious breath.

“Could a wife do the same thing...if she also didn’t want to be a mother?” she asked, a little too nonchalantly

Melinda looked back at her. “It’s possible, I suppose. It might be easier to simply not be a wife.”

Bobbi’s gaze turned sharp.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought through my options for escape already,” she warned. “I thought you were supposed to convince me to accept this marriage.”

Melinda pursed her lips. “Not anymore. Now it’s just my job to document you before the moment.”

In sync, they both turned towards the easel, which hovered over their shoulders in the half-light. Bobbi’s portrait was turned towards the fire to catch the warmth and dry faster, but now, it appeared more like a ghost of some future that had not yet come to pass, hovering in the shadows. The portrait was what Melinda was really brought here to do. But now, the game had changed.

Melinda reached for Bobbi’s hand again.

“You should rest.”

Bobbi shook her head.

“We should stay with Daisy. In case she needs us.”

They fell asleep tucked onto the mattress on either side of the girl, their hands clasped across her body, a body that is now, once again, hers alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusions, but not endings.

The next morning, Daisy was back on her feet but moving considerably more slowly, so Melinda cooked breakfast for them all while Bobbi helped Daisy bathe and change her clothes. Because they lost a day of painting, Melinda and Bobbi went up to the room immediately after breakfast, and Bobbi donned the green gown again. The portrait was now in its final stages—Melinda had already done the bulk of the work, but she still needed Bobbi to sit for her while she added the last layers. Today, however, instead of the peaceful silence she’d become accustomed to, there was something different in the room.

Most obviously, Bobbi couldn’t stop cracking smiles.

It warmed Melinda’s heart and brought a smile to her own face almost immediately, but still, she needed to focus.

“Stop that,” Melinda murmured, scolding half-heartedly as she worked with her brushes.

“Stop what?” Bobbi responded smugly.

“What you’re doing.”

Bobbi’s smile grew. “What am I doing?”

Melinda attempted to glare, but she had a feeling it wasn’t making it across the room.

“Be serious.”

“You don’t really want that.” Bobbi was still smirking.

Melinda finally set her palette and brushes down with a huff.

“You don’t think so? Keep still.”

Circling the easel, Melinda stared Bobbi down as she approached the little stage. Bobbi, perhaps in an attempt to prove her ability to Melinda, was staring straight ahead at the place where Melinda had been standing, not even blinking. Now smirking herself, Melinda closed the distance between them, bunching the green gown as she stepped as close as she could.

Bobbi didn’t move until Melinda’s lips touched hers, but then she grabbed Melinda and held on tight.

They didn’t get much painting done until a few hours later, but that night, after supper when Daisy insisted that she was fine to sleep in her own room that night, Melinda fell asleep with Bobbi in her arms, staring across the room at an almost-finished portrait.

~

With only touch-ups to be done the next day, Melinda invited Bobbi to the other side of the easel. For a while, Bobbi just watched her work, but after a bit, Melinda passed her the brush.

“Do you think you can mix the green I’m needing?”

She didn’t mind if her paints are wasted in the effort, but Bobbi managed to mix a shade of green very close to the one Melinda was looking for to touch up part of the gown in the painting. Melinda watched, leaning close, sneaking kisses on Bobbi’s neck while she worked.

Bobbi leaned into the touch until she paused, looking up at the portrait with a smile.

“I like it better this time.”

“Perhaps because I know you better,” Melinda murmured, pulling away and gazing too at the portrait.

“Perhaps I’ve changed,” Bobbi suggested, turning to meet Melinda’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” Melinda agreed, pecking her quickly on the lips.

Bobbi offered her the prepared brush, and Melinda took it to begin working again on the needy area. Behind her, Bobbi took a breath.

“You didn’t destroy the last portrait for me. You did it for you.”

Melinda paused, setting her brush down and stepping back, next to Bobbi. “I’d like to destroy this one too,” she admitted.

“Why?”

Melinda could not make herself look at Bobbi. “Through it, I am giving you to someone else.”

The ensuing silence felt cold, and Bobbi moved away, pacing around to the other side of the easel. Side by side, she and her image now looked nearly identical.

“It’s terrible,” she suddenly said, turning sharply to face Melinda. “Now that you’ve possessed me a little, you bear me a grudge for not being yours alone.”

“No…” Melinda protested, but Bobbi cut her off.

“You know you do,” the woman snapped, folding her arms. “You’re not on my side now. You blame me for what comes next—my marriage. You don’t support me.”

Melinda sighed, biting her lip. “You’re right.”

Turning her a steely gaze on Melinda, Bobbi took a step towards her. “Go on,” she challenged. “Say what’s on your heart. I thought you were braver.”

Melinda raised her chin. “I believed you braver too.”

Bobbi recoiled as if slapped. “That’s it then. You think I’m docile…or collusive, which is worse. You think I’m happy about going to this marriage?”

“It’s a way of avoiding hope,” Melinda said, staring back in an attempt to be brave.

There were tears in Bobbi’s eyes. “Well, imagine me happy or unhappy if that reassures you, but do not imagine me guilty.”

A few tears fell, and Melinda longed to run to her, but she knew Bobbi would not let her hold her.

“You would have me resist?” Bobbi asked, still holding Melinda’s gaze.

It hurt to breathe. “Yes,” Melinda admitted.

“Are you asking me to?”

Melinda stared hard at Bobbi, needing, for just a moment, to feel like she had any power here. She could not ask it. For too many reasons to count, she could not ask that of Bobbi.

And yet everything in her wanted to.

“Answer me,” Bobbi demanded without raising her voice.

Melinda let out a breath that felt like a knife. “No.”

Bobbi held her gaze for barely a moment longer. Then, spinning on her heel, she strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Finally alone, Melinda pressed a hand to her chest and wept.

~

She gave Bobbi an hour before Melinda went looking for her, but she wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t in the parlor. Downstairs in the kitchen, Daisy sat working on her embroidery when Melinda strode in.

“Have you seen Bobbi?” she asked anxiously.

Daisy shook her head. “She went outside a little while ago.”

Nodding, Melinda turned towards the main door.

“We’ve had news,” Daisy suddenly called after her. “Madame returns tomorrow.”

Another knife slipped between Melinda’s ribs, but she only said, “Very well.”

“Will you be ready?” Daisy asked as Melinda reached the doorway.

She meant the painting.

Or perhaps she didn’t.

“Yes.”

~

She found Bobbi on a rocky beach not far from the manor, standing just beyond the reach of the crashing waves. She was still wearing the green gown. Out of breath from her run but unwilling to waste any more of the little time they had left, Melinda raced across the sand to her, flinging her arms around Bobbi’s waist.

Bobbi seemed not to have heard her coming and spun in surprise, but Melinda only adjusted her embrace, clutching Bobbi to her heart.

“Forgive me,” she gasped against the woman’s chest. “Forgive me.” Her tears came flooding back as she looked up at Bobbi to deliver the crushing news. “Your mother returns tomorrow.”

Bobbi mechanically raised her arms, touching Melinda’s face gently, and Melinda kissed her frantically, because it was only a matter of time until she never would again.

~

It was just past midday when they returned to the house, acknowledging Daisy in the kitchen before making their way back upstairs. In Melinda’s room, Bobbi smoothed her wind-tossed hair and wiped her eyes, sitting on the stage once more and finding the pose without thinking.

Picking up her brush, Melinda looked down at the paint that Bobbi had mixed just an hour or a lifetime ago. Painfully, she brought the brush to the canvas and did what she had to do.

It didn’t take nearly enough time to finish the painting.

“Come here,” she called after only a little while, summoning Bobbi back to her side of the easel. Once again, Bobbi came and stood beside her, and they studied the painting together.

Nearly done.

“How do we know when it’s finished?” the blonde asked quietly.

Melinda bit her lip. “When we stop.”

With her left hand, she reached for Bobbi’s hand. With her right, she picked up the brush. A final highlight here. A last touch-up there. Some final shading there.

She put down her brush.

“Finished.”

For a long moment, they stared at the painting in silence. Then Bobbi turned towards her, bringing her hand gently to Melinda’s cheek and pulling her into a kiss.

~

The afternoon sun and a bright fire were warming the room as they lay in bed together later, bare skin tucked beneath the duvet. Melinda had her colored pencils out and was working on a cameo of Bobbi, though in the drawing, the woman was of course clothed.

“Who’s it for?” Bobbi asked with a smile when Melinda turned it around to show her.

“For me,” she said with a smile. She could keep it in her art case, carry it with her always.

“You can produce that image to infinity,” Bobbi murmured. “After a while, you’ll see that image instead of my memory when you think of me. But I have no image of you.”

Melinda curled closer to Bobbi, kissing her neck. “Do you want one?”

“Yes,” Bobbi said, not allowing Melinda to distract her.

Melinda grabbed the book that she had loaned to Bobbi days ago, opening it to a mostly blank page.

“This book is yours now,” she said with a smile, setting to work on a nude sketch of her herself reclining across the page.

~

They did not leave each other’s sides throughout the evening, although they did dress for supper and eat downstairs with Daisy. Curled together in Melinda’s bed that night, Melinda stared through the dimness as the fire died, studying Bobbi in firelight one last time.

“Your eyes are closing,” she whispered as Bobbi’s eyes began to drift shut. “Don’t go to sleep…” she begged, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Bobbi’s eyes opened again, and she smiled sadly. “I feel something new,” she whispered.

“What?”

Bobbi’s mouth pulled tight for a moment. “Regret.”

Melinda shook her head, reaching over to caress the woman’s cheek. “Don’t regret. Remember.” She smiled. “I’ll always remember when you fell asleep in the kitchen.”

Bobbi smiled. “I’ll remember your dark look when I beat you at cards.”

Melinda stroked her hair. “I’ll remember the first time you laughed.”

Bobbi chuckled. “Well, you took your time being funny.”

Melinda pulled her hand away, adjusting the knives in her chest. “That’s true. I wasted time.”

“So did I,” Bobbi admitted. But then she went on, “I’ll remember the first time I wanted to kiss you.”

Melinda gazed at her curiously. “When was that?”

Bobbi’s brows went up. “You didn’t notice?”

“At the feast around the fire?” Melinda guessed.

Bobbi tilted her head. “I wanted to then, yes, but that wasn’t the first time.”

Melinda leaned closer. “Tell me.”

Bobbi shook her head patiently. “No, you tell me.”

Melinda went back through every memory that she would keep tucked in her heart for as long as she could, trying to find the moment.

“When you asked me if I had known love…” she whispered, touching Bobbi’s face with her fingertips, realizing that she’d always known this was the moment. “For you, the answer was yes, and it was now.”

Bobbi smiled before leaning over to kiss her. “I remember.”

~

Melinda awoke first the next morning and dressed quietly before going downstairs in search of breakfast. She came down the stairs, rounded the corner, then stopped short when she found a man sitting at the table, eating.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly around a full mouth of food.

“Good morning,” Melinda said automatically, her eyes sliding to Daisy, who gave her an apologetic look as she dished up the man’s second helping.

_It’s time._

Melinda abandoned the kitchen to turn and race back up the stairs.

Bobbi sat up halfway as Melinda strode back into the room.

“They’re here,” she announced.

Bobbi sighed but for a moment did not move. Melinda held her breath, waiting, hoping…

But then Bobbi stood, picked up her corset from the floor, and slipped it over her head. She approached Melinda and turned around so she could help with the laces. Melinda held her breath, gripped the lines, and started to pull them tight.

~

The Countess seemed refreshed from her travels as the two of them greeted her in the parlor. She was a bit browner than before, and she had some extra luggage in the room that was not yet unpacked. Melinda exchanged formalities mindlessly, constantly measuring the distance between Bobbi’s body and her own. All too soon, the Countess asked to see the portrait, and Melinda led the way to her room, where they watched the Countess inspect it eagerly.

After a long minute, the woman nodded.

“Very good,” she announced, nodding as she stepped back from the unsmiling portrait. Melinda said nothing, but the woman was busy extracting a small envelope from her dress pocket. When Melinda touched it, she could tell it was stuffed with money.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, dropping her eyes to the floor.

The Countess moved towards the door, calling Bobbi after her.

“In a minute,” Bobbi demurred softly, hovering at Melinda’s elbow.

“No, now,” her mother said firmly, though not angrily. “I have a gift for you.”

Bobbi walked out obediently, looking back like Orpheus, and Melinda tried very hard not to feel angry at the Countess for denying them a final moment together.

Melinda watched as the portrait was carefully packed up by the workman, nailed into the pallet that she had first brought it in. She would not have to carry it back to Paris—the portrait would be going straight to Milan with the next courier for the family. She re-packed her small bag, donned her coat. Daisy appeared as the boatman shouldered both items to fetch them down to the shore, and when the two women were alone, Daisy approached her shyly.

“I’ll say goodbye here,” she said, moving closer and pulling Melinda into a gentle hug. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’ll write to you,” Melinda promised, and Daisy smiled as she pulled away.

“That would be nice.”

They left the room together, Daisy disappearing back downstairs, and Melinda took a deep breath before walking into the parlor

Bobbi was standing in the full daylight of the room wearing her mother’s gift.

A wedding dress.

Their eyes met, and Melinda’s heart broke.

Numbly, she approached the Countess, who smiled at her pleasantly.

“Have a safe journey,” the woman said politely, not even offering her hand, and Melinda knew what she had to do.

Cautiously, she leaned in and embraced the woman briefly. Of course, the Countess did not react, confused, but it was necessary. So that once she pulled away, Melinda could rush to Bobbi and do the same…

They embraced frantically, and though Melinda willed time to stop, she didn’t trust it to, memorizing Bobbi’s shape, her scent, her skin, her breath in the mere seconds they held one another…

It was all they could have. Melinda yanked herself away and hurled herself from the room, afraid to look back, afraid to look at anyone as she rushed down the steps, fighting back tears…

A clear voice rang out in the vaulted space behind her just as she yanked the heavy main door open.

“Turn around.”

Melinda stopped with one foot in the light, biting her lip as she turned slowly over her shoulder.

Bobbi stood on the stairs gazing at her, still every inch a bride, and Melinda memorized her one last time.

_Eurydice’s farewell._

_Orpheus’s choice._

Either way, she was lost.

Melinda turned away and flung herself into the daylight, waiting until she was nearing the cliffs to finally break down and weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter planned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda arrives back in Paris and tries to resume her old life. Not long after that, she hears some shocking news from Daisy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Finally!
> 
> Some canon divergence coming up...

Days passed.

Melinda traveled back to the mainland in the same little rowboat, then joined a carriage headed towards Paris. She arrived back in the city on the fourth day, and her father was waiting when she walked in the door.

“How was it?”

Melinda’s hands had felt empty without the pallet of canvases that she had left this place with barely three weeks ago. She dumped her bag on a table and began sorting her art supplies to put them away.

“I learned a lot.”

He father nodded solemnly and went back to his own painting, and that was all they said about it.

~

Weeks passed.

True to her word, the Countess had passed Melinda’s name around to her friends. A letter arrived from one household, then another, then another, requesting Melinda’s services for portraits all around France. Melinda’s name rather abruptly grew larger within the city, and she was able, for the first time in her career, to begin to set a little money aside for her future.

She wrote a letter to Daisy, a letter to the Countess, and a letter to Bobbi, in that order, mailing them together and hoping at least one person would be in the island manor to receive them. The first response came from Daisy, who told her that the portrait was well-received by the Milanese suitor, and Bobbi and her mother were already on their way to Italy for a wedding. After reading this, it took a long time for Melinda to come back and read the rest of Daisy’s letter, but she was glad she did—the girl had kindly offered to forward the other letters to their recipients at their new address.

Melinda wrote back to thank her, then traveled out of Paris for a few weeks to do portraits for other households around the country. When she returned, there was another letter from Daisy. As she read it, Melinda could picture the young woman’s face, her hands rubbing together nervously, as Daisy told her something she didn’t want to say and Melinda didn’t want to hear.

_I received word only yesterday. As the newlyweds traveled to Sicily for their honeymoon, their ship was caught in a storm. All were lost._

Melinda sat, shell-shocked, for several hours without moving.

_It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be…_

In the past, she had never understood why Orpheus would have journeyed into the realm of death, risking his own life for the chance of restoring his beloved to life.

Now she knew—whether by his death or his success, he would be reunited with his love. In this moment, it was all Melinda wanted, all she thought she might ever want again.

~

Months passed.

Her name was still growing, her heart was still in painting, but most of the time now, her mind was a thousand miles away as she created portrait after portrait. Between jobs, she worked alone in the upper room of her father’s studio on personal projects, fielding cautious inquisition from her father when he checked in on her.

“Where did you get an idea like this?” he asked, watching over her shoulder as she created a vaulted night sky over a woman walking on a beach, her skirt aflame.

“A dream,” Melinda answered, not necessarily lying.

“Is it also from memory?”

Melinda closed her eyes for a brief moment, still able to hear the women’s song from that night around the fire. “Yes.”

_And now it’s a memorial._

As time passed, she began to recieve letters from strangers not interested in her services but in learning under her tutelage, and when she eventually felt up to it some months later, Melinda posted an announcement in the newspaper that she would offer limited classes to young women interested in learning art from her. Six women wrote in requesting spots, and Melinda prepared the studio for the upcoming classes.

An hour before the first class was due to start, Melinda was working on her latest project, a painting of Eurydice falling back into the depths, when someone knocked at the downstairs door before inviting themselves in. Annoyed, Melinda set down her brush and went downstairs to intercept what was probably an overzealous student who needed to be told not to arrive so early for the next class. Rounding the corner, she saw a tall young man in a thick overcoat studying the paintings hung around the gallery.

“If you’re here for the class, it begins in an hour,” Melinda called. “Otherwise, how may I help you?”

The figure turned, and Melinda froze.

“So, as it happens…” Bobbi said slowly, “I can in fact swim.”

When Melinda’s students arrived an hour later, they found a notice on the door that the class was postponed until the afternoon.

~

It took time for Bobbi to talk about what happened at sea, but Melinda was content to wait, knowing only that Bobbi was alive and in her arms, her Eurydice, resurrected from the depths.

“There was a storm,” Bobbi told her eventually, when she was ready. Her eyes had a haunted look in them as she let the memory in, and Melinda squeezed her hands hard while she listened. “The boat was being tossed—I’d never feared the sea like that before. We were told to prepare for the worst, and the crew began throwing cargo over for us to float on if it came to that… I had already been hiding my jewelry in the coat…I was planning to escape in Sicily… So I put it on, and I prayed…”

She said she spent a whole day at sea, clinging to a piece of wreckage, before being washed ashore on a small island, exhausted and weak. It was not Sicily, and the lone shepherd family’s silence and help was bought with some of her jewels. They got her on the next supply boat back to Italy, but not before she had cut off her hair and taken men’s clothes for disguise. In Italy, she had bought passage back to France on a stagecoach—it would be some time before she was ready to set foot on a ship again. In Paris, she had just said Melinda’s name at every studio until someone pointed her in the right direction.

“Will you tell your mother you survived?” Melinda asked at the end of the story, still memorizing the new texture of Bobbi’s hands.

“No. It’s better this way,” Bobbi answered quietly. “It’s a simpler way to lose me.”

Melinda’s father accepted the woman into their home without any rules or questions, but after only a few months, Melinda was ready to pursue a space of their own. Between her small savings and Bobbi’s jewels, they can afford a small flat further from the center of the city, a place to make their own while Melinda expanded her teaching to larger classes. Her father had still made it very clear that she would be the successor of his portrait business, so a home away from him was hardly a farewell.

Still, it was good to find a place where they could hide. Bobbi doubted that anyone suspected she was still alive, but her mother still lived, and so did Daisy, and they both had Melinda’s address. For a while, at least, it was better for her and Bobbi to lie low, better for her to continue to dress in disguise as she went out, and better for Melinda to tell no one of the miracle that had happened to her. She refrained from painting Bobbi’s image on every canvas she touched, but if Melinda had had her way, she’d have adorned their walls with every angle of Bobbi’s face. Short hair and all.

After months and months of lying low and savoring the dullest of moments, Melinda heard of an event coming to the local chamber music hall and excitedly purchased two tickets. Bobbi wore a suit, though a much nicer one than the one the shepherds gave her. Her hair, longer now but still very much a man’s length, she hid beneath a powdered wig that belonged to Melinda’s father. The sight was comical, and Melinda could not stop smiling the whole carriage ride to their destination.

“Will you tell me what’s so exciting before we arrive?” Bobbi asked, acting put out at Melinda’s entertainment but nevertheless smiling.

“No. It’s a surprise,” Melinda said, still grinning.

“You’re not selling this disguise by treating it as a joke,” Bobbi said, reaching across the space between them and pushing up the hem of Melinda’s gown to her knee. “I can’t abide an unruly wife.”

“I suppose you’d better reprimand me,” Melinda challenged, and Bobbi narrowed her eyes wickedly.

“Or perhaps just incentivize you?”

Melinda was far more pliant by the time they arrived.

Inside, she held Bobbi’s arm as if she were a he, but Melinda still led the way, producing their tickets and guiding Bobbi up to the balcony. As they came to the edge to find their seats and Bobbi saw the orchestra setting up on the stage below, her face lit up. Melinda smiled to herself, led them to their seats, and settled in beside her.

“What are they playing?” Bobbi whispered, looking at the program they had been given.

Melinda smiled proudly. “Vivaldi.”

A few minutes later, the conductor stepped in front of the musicians, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Bobbi leaned forward, holding her breath. The baton cued the first note, but Melinda could not take her eyes off Bobbi for the entire piece.

At the end of the first movement, she offered Bobbi her handkerchief and kissed her cheek when it was dry.

Back in the carriage at the end of the concert, Bobbi thanked her twice.

~

Years passed.

Every day felt like a miracle, having the gift Orpheus never got—more years with the beloved. Melinda often remembered the story as she lay in Bobbi’s arms, wondered what Orpheus planned to do with those years, had he had the chance to live them with his wife. Would it have been full of grandness? Probably not. It would have been the mundane, the daily chores and work, a life of stress and accidents, illness and aging… Perhaps though, it was the miracle of a life restored, given back, that made all those things, formerly denied, utterly grand.

It would have been the lover’s choice to pursue her unto death, the poet’s choice to let her go and remember instead.

What then was the artist’s choice, Melinda asked herself once.

But she knew every time she picked up a brush, every time she put pencil to paper, that it was still the same as the poet’s, whether the love was present or lost.

She chose to memorialize. Every moment. Grand and small, small made grand.

A choice she would keep making— _they_ would keep making—for the rest of her days if they could.

Melinda wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
